his Death Eaters are up for conjecture. It's incredible how short a time must pass before a certain kind of mentality feels it is safe to turn history onto its head.'
'The Progressive Element here knows they need to be very careful,' Harry said in a low voice. 'Enough people are still alive who have firsthand memories of Voldemort and his atrocities. Enough people still remember lost family and friends, killed at the hand of his Death Eaters. Still, the lure to challenge the status quo, whatever it may be, is strong in the young. It's natural, but typically short-lived. History will out, as they say.'
'History is bunk,' Franklyn said disgustedly. 'I should know. I lived during quite a bit of it, and I can indeed tell you that sometimes, there is, in fact, a wide gulf between what gets reported and what actually happened.'
'I would expect that that is the exception and not the rule,' Harry stated.
Franklyn sighed as they turned a corner. 'I suppose. The fact is, though, that the exceptions give rabble- rousers like the Progressive Element all the ammunition they need to challenge any historical record they wish. The history of Voldemort and his rise to power, as we know it, doesn't fit their agenda. Thus, they carefully attack it, sowing the seeds of doubt among minds shallow enough to believe the distortions.'
'It sounds,' Harry said, keeping his voice low and conversational, 'like you have a pretty good idea what their agenda is.'
'Of course I do, and so do you, Mr. Potter. The agenda hasn't changed for a thousand years, has it?'
'No, it hasn't.'
'Harry Potter.' Franklyn stopped in the darkness of the corridor, looking at Harry's face. 'Even now, a sizeable minority in my country believe that Lord Tom Riddle, as they prefer to call him, has been unfairly demonized by you who defeated him. They prefer to believe that Voldemort was a revolutionary hero, a fresh thinker, whose beliefs were simply too much for the traditional ruling class to tolerate. They think he was destroyed because he threatened to make things better, not worse, but that the wealthy and powerful were resistant even to a change for the good.'
James, standing several feet away, hidden under the cloak, could see his dad's jaw clenching as Franklyn spoke. But when Harry responded, his voice remained calm and measured. 'You know that these are lies and distortions, I assume.'
'Of course I do,' Franklyn said, waving a hand dismissively, almost angrily. 'But the point is that they are attractive lies to a certain type of person. Those that preach these distortions know how to appeal to the emotions of the populace. They believe the truth is a wire to bend to their will. It is their agenda only that they care for.'
Harry remained stoic and unmoving. 'And the agenda, you believe, is the domination of the Muggle world?'
Franklyn laughed rather harshly, and James thought of the nasty chuckle the professor had made during dinner, when discussing Madame Delacroix's powers. 'Not to hear them tell it. No, they are crafty these days. They claim to be for the exact opposite. Their rallying cry is absolute equality between the Muggle and magical worlds. Full disclosure, the abolition of all laws of secrecy and non-competition. They preach that anything less is unfair to the Muggles, an insult to them.'
Harry nodded grimly. 'As we are seeing here. Of course, it is a two-edged sword. Prejudice and equality in the same message.'
'Certainly,' Franklyn agreed, resuming his walk along the corridor. 'In America, we are seeing a resurgence of stories about Muggle scientists capturing witches and wizards, torturing them to discover the secret of their magic.'
'A throwback to the old Salem witch trials?' Harry asked.
Franklyn laughed, and this time there was no malice in it. 'Hardly. Those were the good old days. Sure, witches were put on trial, and loads of them were burned, but as you know, any witch worth her wand wouldn't be hurt by a Muggle bonfire. She'd stand in the flames and yell for a while, just to give the Muggles a good show, then transport herself from the pyre flames to her own fireplace. That was the origin of the Floo Network, of course. No, these days, the stories of witches and wizards being captured and systematically tortured are pure fabrications. That doesn't matter to the faithful, though. The culture of fear and prejudice works side-by-side with their mission of 'equality'. Full disclosure, they claim, will bring peace and freedom. Continuing the program of secrecy, on the other hand, can only lead to more attacks on wizarding society by an increasingly invasive Muggle world.'
Harry stopped by a window. 'And once they've achieved their goal of total disclosure with the Muggle world?'
'Well, there's only one outcome to that, isn't there?' Franklyn answered.
Harry's face was thoughtful in the moonlight. 'Muggles and wizards would descend into competitions and jealousies, just like they did in eons past. The dark wizards would make sure of it. It would start as small challenges and outbursts. Laws would be passed, enforcing equal treatment, but those laws would become the basis for new contentions. Wizards would demand to be placed into Muggle power structures, all in the name of 'equality'. Once there, they'd push for greater control, more power. They'd win over Muggle leaders, using promises and lies where they could, threats and the Imperius Curse where they couldn't. Eventually, order would break down. Finally, inevitably, there would be all-out war.' Harry's voice had gone soft, considering. He turned to Franklyn, who stood watching him, his face calm but dreadful. 'And that's what they want, isn't it? War with the Muggle world.'
'That's what they've always wanted,' Franklyn agreed. 'The struggle never stops. It just has different chapters.'
'Who's involved?' Harry asked simply.
Franklyn sighed again, hugely, and rubbed his eyes. 'It's not so simple. It's virtually impossible to tell the instigators from their followers. There are some individuals it would be instructive to watch closely, though.'
'Madame Delacroix.'
Franklyn glanced up, studying Harry's face. He nodded. 'And Professor Jackson.'
James gasped, and then clapped his hand over his mouth. His dad and Professor Franklyn stood very still. James was sure they'd heard him. Then Harry spoke again.
'Anyone else?'
Franklyn shook his head slowly. 'Of course. But then you'd just be watching everyone and everything. It's like an infestation of cockroaches in the walls. You can either watch the cracks or burn down the house. Take your pick.'
James backed away very carefully, then when he felt safely out of earshot, he turned and retraced his steps back to the Americans' quarters. His heart was pounding so heavily he had been sure that his dad or Professor Franklyn would hear it.
He knew the so-called Progressive Element was no good, but now he knew it must be them that were planning the return of Merlinus Ambrosius, believing he would help them to accomplish their false goal of equality, which would lead inevitably to war. Merlin had said that he would return when the balance between Muggles and wizards was 'ripe for his ministrations'. What else could that mean? He hadn't been surprised that Madame Delacroix might be involved in such a plot. But Professor Jackson? James had come to quite like the professor, despite his crusty exterior. He could hardly imagine that Jackson could be secretly plotting the domination of the Muggle world. Franklyn had to be wrong about him.
James ran lightly past the Americans' quarters, looking for the door to the guest room he and his dad were staying in. With a sudden stab of fear, he remembered that the doorway had vanished when he'd come out. It was a magical room, after all. How was he supposed to get back in? He had to be inside the room, apparently asleep, by the time his dad came back. He stopped in the corridor, not even sure what stretch of wall the doorway had
